


Callous - 40 Years in Hell

by NerdyMind



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Gratuitous use of AFI lyrics, Hell Fic, M/M, Murder, Psychological Torture, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyMind/pseuds/NerdyMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NOTICE: This story is currently on hiatus until April while I work a convention. <3 </p><p>cal·lous (ˈkaləs) adj.<br/>- showing or having an insensitive and cruel disregard for others. heartless, unfeeling, cold</p><p>This hell fic explores what happened in the 40 years Dean spent in Hell, what it did to him and the Angel-Demon war that raged below to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean - Year 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's first year in Hell is hazy.
> 
>  _Your sins into me_  
>  Oh, my beautiful one  
> Your sins into me  
> As a rapturous voice escapes, I will tremble a prayer  
> And I'll beg for forgiveness.  
> ~AFI, Silver and Cold

Dean hadn’t spoken for the last six months. His throat was raw, choking on garbled words. “Sammy!” had faded to “Stop.” had eroded to “Please.”

On the rack he had no real concept of time, only that it had passed and felt infinite. There was no sky and no horizon, but there was an up. The vertigo in his head when suspended upside down, wrenching the bile from his burning throat, was sure of that.

For six months, or six weeks or six days, Dean screamed himself hoarse to an empty room. The chains in his flesh ripped and tore until they became new appendages. Somewhere, something was pulling constantly. Flipping him around. Blood flow changing, coating him in a sticky marinade of his own insides. In the beginning he did not die. He did not sleep. In his mind, he told himself it was for Sammy. Everything would be worth it.

It would be weeks before a dreamless sleep eventually claimed Dean Winchester. Not so much rest as darkness seeping into his entire self and eyes too heavy to remain open.

A sweet silky voice licked at his wounds, teasing him awake. “Deaaaan.”

His eyes shot open. That voice belonged to _her_.  “Crossroads?” Dean rasped out wet and broken over his cracked lips.

“Searle. I have a name. And a true face.” Red eyes flashed, slitted pupils locked on frightened green eyes. The brunette waves fell from her head, replaced with smooth chocolate scales, dress dissolved into black feathery flesh. Mouth stretched into a fierce red beak. She became a mix of avian and reptilian features. Ragged talons at her heels and wrists. Her voice became disembodied and enveloped him.

“Dean Winchester. You are mine. For a year,” she said, raising one eagle taloned digit to scrape across Dean’s chest. “My reward from Lilith.  A small token of her gratitude for getting you here. And I intend to get my pound of flesh.”

Chains vanished and Dean crumpled down to a _floor now?_ Hissing, he drew in sore limbs, slipping wet across the gray tiles as blood poured from every hole in him. “Where?” he gurgled.

“We can control the environment here.” Searle spoke, lifting one arm to demonstrate. Dean found himself lifted, horizontal on a cold morgue table. “And we can heal,” Dean was whole again, blood flow stopped, strength returned. “Well, I say heal. No, we can reset your physical memory. Your body isn’t actually here, but your mind can’t tell the difference.” Dean looked down at fresh, solid limbs. _This isn’t real? I can hold onto that_. “Uh uh uh,” Searle tutted in his ear. “No, you can’t.” She waved a hand, now talon free, across his forehead.

“Can’t what?” Dean asked. Looking down, eyes seeing his body for the first time, again. “Who are you? Did you heal me?” A nurse stood at his bedside, white scrubs, beautiful brunette curls. “Good morning sunshine.” She turned, smiled. Placing the chart back on his bed. “I am Rachel. Do you know who you are?”

“Dean.” he answered, skeptical to give any more.

“And what do you remember, Dean?”

His mind supplied a flow of memories. Chains. Darkness. Screaming. “Nothing. Just, pain.” he lied.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean Winchester. We don’t like liars here.”

“Where exactly is _here_?” He froze on the bed trying to take in the outside world through sun soaked windows.

“Colorado State Institution.” she said, eyes heavy with sadness.

“And why am I here?”

“You killed someone. Then tried to kill yourself.” Panic shot through Dean’s chest. He struggled against the restraints at his wrists and ankles. _Had those been there earlier?_

“And where is my brother?”

Rachel’s eyes grew dark. Sad. She looked away.

“Where is he, goddammit!?” Dean demanded, rattling the bed frame.

“You killed him.” Rachel whispered.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I would never. No.”

“You were yelling that he was a monster. And you just. You ripped him to pieces.”

A flash of memory, tearing flesh and ripping clothes. Blood bubbling, pooling across the abdomen. Dean could feel the pain of shredding skin, he could remember it like it had been his own. Barking echoed in his ears and Sammy’s face looking, _down at him. Wait._

Rachel placed a cool hand across his forehead and the memory was gone.

“You killed your brother, Dean Winchester.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. Violently. Rattled against the bed restraints in desperation.

“I would never. No!”

“Yes. He is dead because of you.”  Rachel glared down at him, teeth sneering in challenge.  Her white scrubs blinding against the white walls.  A flash of imagery danced across his memory of piercing white eyes.   _Lilith._

“No! I saved him!” Dean screeched. A green light burst from his eyes, pulsating through the walls, through the nurse. It blotted out the false sun and threw the room back into darkness.

Rachel’s eyes flashed red, mask slipping. Dean froze and gaped. “You!”

“Boo,” the melting face pouted. “I put a lot of work into that one.”

A clammy sharp claw scraped down Dean’s forehead and his world was darkness again.


	2. Castiel - Year 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is given his new assignment.
> 
>  _Now look down_  
>  From these great heights  
> Soaring pristine and private  
> Through the storm  
> We will cut right  
> Across the skyline  
> AFI, Too Late for Gods

“And we are getting involved now?”

“Yes”

“After all this time?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

“Michael has asked this of us, and we will do as he says, Castiel.”

“And Michael still speaks for Father?”

“Yes”

“How long do we have? I have heard rumor that time is different below.”

“Even I do not know everything, brother. There is a righteous soul, trapped in Perdition. We have been tasked to bring him back before he loses his humanity.”

“But why? He is just one soul. One mortal man.”

“Michael says he is important. It is not your place to ask why.”

“I understand.”

“You will lieutenant under Zachariah with eleven others. A few of our brothers have fought beside you before. Uriel. Samandriel. There is but one mission. Find the soul, rebuild the vessel and restore them to Earth.”

“And the demons? Alastair?”

“I do not care how much demon blood you spill between here and there. Stick to the mission.”

“Very well, I will ready the others.”

“And Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“I am trusting you to keep everyone on task at all costs. We will be watching.”

“Of course.”


	3. Dean - Year 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Searle continues her mental abuse.
> 
>  _There's a tear in my heart where the blood ran out._  
>  There's a tear in my heart where the love ran out.  
> AFI, Salt for Your Wounds

“Sammy, I’m back. Brought you--,” Dean froze in the doorway. The lights of their hotel room were out but the door had been unlocked. Reaching for the switch he felt something warm and sticky. He dropped their take out bags and reached for the pistol he kept in his waistband, flicking the lights on.

As the room was painted in an amber glow, Dean was hit with a wave of nausea and shock.

Blood was everywhere. There were signs of a struggle, claw marks in the wall paper, and across the frayed remains of the bed sheets. Faint smell of goofer dust along the door frame where a dropped bag had been abandoned in haste. The coppery taste of death was prodding the back of his throat, drawing out a dry retch.

There was a shadow in the corner, a lumpy mass of flesh flecked with too familiar plaid and denim that he couldn’t bring himself to look at. “Sammy?” his voice was a broken whisper. Eyes darting around the rest of the room, willing his brother to emerge from the bathroom. Crawl from under the bed and startle him in a sick joke. But there was only silence. His breath was crooked, raw and gasping around choked sobs. “Sammy, please…” Dean looked to the corner.

The room spun around and he collapsed into the wall, sliding down the door frame. The tears came freely now, blurring the room, drowning his vision. His body felt hollow and heavy. Eyes dropping closed, willing the image to vanish.

Head between his knees, pistol shaking in his hands, Dean was rocking and whispering an incantation of desperation. “pleasepleasepleasegodnoplease…”

Suddenly the room was spinning, melting then gone. Dean was chained spread eagle in darkness. Heavy hooks ripping into his flesh felt comforting, familiar. Confused, he jerked his head around, looking for his brother.

“Sammy? Where is...” Reality settled in and Dean’s shaking subsided into anger as he remembered. Fog slowly fading from his mind. His eyes darted around the darkness looking for those red eyes. She had killed Sammy, again. He always retained the memory of each death when she brought him back. But inside the lie, he was shocked. Always broken and sobbing.

“Searle! Come out and face me you bitch!”

A whisp of black smoke swirled before him, solidifying into a grotesque creature. Someone new. This demon was shorter, green and black in their beak, flecks of silver in the scales running up their legs. Feathers few and mottled.

“Apologiesss, Dean Winchessster.” a slithering reptilian voice hissed around him. “A new demon is being asssigned to you. In the meantime, you are ssstuck with me.”

“What happened? She couldn’t cut it?” Dean sneered.

“Don’t get sssuch an ego,” the voice laughed, “Your brother ssshot her.”

“The Colt.” Dean grinned. “That’s my boy.” Dean broke out into a nervous giggle. Despite everything, he was proud of Sammy. And more than ever, he was just glad the kid was still alive.

“Enjoy that laugh while you can,” the goblin like thing slithered up to his face, yellowed teeth sneering. A single black talon trailed across his cheek, searing into the flesh. “I will burn the laughter out of you Dean Winchester.”

The fallen hunter’s face erupted into flames as every chain in his skin suddenly glowed red hot and molten. He could smell his own flesh roasting, hear the sizzle pop of bursting veins and boiling blood.

Dean screamed.


	4. Castiel - Year 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search party cometh.
> 
>  _I am everywhere, everywhere but here,_  
>  For here is where you grace the nameless.  
> AFI, Too Shy To Scream

“Zachariah, are you certain this is the best course of--”

“Why do you always question me, Castiel?

“Apologies.” the blue ball of light fizzled and faded to a dull glow.

“Only you could manage a pout in celestial form,” the bright white light shook, laughing. The blue ball flared in petulance. “I was merely concerned about our vulnerable state, brother. Grace drain will be a primary factor in our success.”

“But look at them down there. They are weak and unsuspecting. We will not fail. Now fall back in line. Your unit will be going in first.” Excited voices buzzed in the air as the angels began sorting into rank and file.

Below them, the dull fiery pits and swarming masses writhed about dark hallways and cages sorting the fallen. The entrance to Hell was the most crowded but also the easiest to slip by undetected. Vaulted ceilings served well for clandestine activity with its many recessed crevasses and shadowed corners. Decisions had been made upstairs to enter Hell vessel free as pure angelic grace. Seen only as jittery balls of lightning, the angels would be harder to target and allow them to slip into the judgment and punishment chambers. But without corporeal forms, they would not be able to wield angel blades and would have to rely on using their grace as both shield and weapon.

The air was charged with tension, ozone and excitement as the angels awaited direction.

“Raphael, you will take Alpha Squadron and make for the judgment room. We are looking for Dean Winchester, see if he has been sorted or if he is still in queue. Castiel, you will lead Beta to the first punishment chambers on the right. Work your way through clockwise and descending, following the hall. I will remain here with Omega as backup and relay any updates or new orders. As soon as Ezekiel returns from recon, we will begin.”

“He’s coming back!” Samandriel exclaimed, hopping about and flaring crimson in anticipation. The angels all watched as a flickering golden light snuck across the banisters, ducking expertly between shadows and making its way back to them.

Ezekiel flitted to the front of the group. “The demons speak of a soul in the punishment rooms who broke Searle’s spell. Could be the one we seek. Should we start there or--”

“We will stick to the original orders,” Zachariah decided. “Ezekiel, join Castiel. Find out where this Searle demon is. Raphael, report back here if this... Winchester, is not in que for sorting. Now, time to make our presence known. Move out.”

Sticking to shadow where they could find it, the angels scattered about to their assigned rooms. Demons were eavesdropped as fallen souls were touched fleetingly, looking for name markers.

Castiel and his team made their way through the punishment chambers, slowed by the disorganization of its layout. Ever since the war that locked Lucifer away, rule of Hell had been contested and won through several uprisings. The current demon in charge, Alastair, had very little care for organization. Punishment chambers ranged in depth and scale depending on the quirks of the demon currently assigned to torture. Each cell was scattered haphazardly along an infinite downward spiral. Daunted by the endless darkness ahead of them, Castiel paused on the edge of the entrance.

 _I just hope we aren’t too late._   The angel worried once more as he waved Ezekiel and Samandriel ahead. “Spread out, check each soul and try to find out where Searle was last seen. If you are spotted, you know what to do. We must not be seen or we risk war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fought with myself on how to best illustrate the angels and went with glowy balls of lightning and energy because it makes sense in my head. Ezekiel, the REAL Ezekiel, is a good guy here. With a heart of gold. <3


	5. Dean - Year 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust no one.
> 
>  _I'd show a smile, but i'm too weak,_  
>  I'd share with you could I only speak,  
> Just how much this, hurts me.  
> AFI, This Time Imperfect

His ears were thick with blood, throbbing and dull. Dean was numb. His father’s words echoing in him. _Suck it up. The pain won’t kill you. Giving in to it will._ His flesh hung in thin strips. Each piece carefully, slowly stripped from the muscle beneath by whips and hooked tails.

The new demon, who would not give his name, had stopped using words. He spoke only in snapping tissue and flaying lashes. Lucky for the green eyed man before him, he had also forgotten to reset Dean’s memory. Pain threatened to wrack the fallen hunter. But he held onto Searle’s slip that this was not, in fact, his corporeal form. It was all an illusion. Sure, he let loose a scream and a grunt here and there to prod the little hissing beastie along. But inside, Dean was solid. _This isn’t real. Pain cannot kill me. I am stronger than this little fucking troll._

The fire was harder to endure. Flames burst below him. His iron shackles became solid rope. Flammable, tight strands of burning rope. The smell of his own singed flesh pulling a dry retch from his throat. But after some time, even that was tolerable. Buried. Ignored.

“Is that the best you have?” Dean grinned, emerald eyes dark with challenge. He had grown bored of the silence. Of all the insufferable torture dolled out over these past few years, a demon without sass was just cruel and a bit rude.

“You inssssolent thing!” the miniature torturer flailed angrily. His lashes ceased. Fire around Dean’s feet extinguished. “I will rip your inssssides out and feed them to you!” he screeched. A table appeared, cluttered with many rusted knives and saws. Dean fought the flop of his stomach and clenched his jaw tight. _It’s not real. It’s not real_. He closed his eyes and focused on the words.

He listened to the soft gurgled humming of a demon in thought. The subtle click of claws tracing over each instrument as he chose how best to disembowel his prisoner. The grating scrape of a blade selected-- No. Of a door opening. Dean opened his eyes.

The shorter demon was gone. Table of tools and torture rack with him. He looked around the small stonewall cell. “Hello?” he asked to the darkness, voice bouncing back unanswered. Now unbound and free to roam, Dean took careful steps backwards, edging away from the open door and crouching in preparation to lunge. A cautious shadow filled the doorway, followed by a familiar face.

“Sammy?”

His eyes closed, head shaking in denial. “No, no, you’re not here. You can’t be. This is a trick. Just another fucking trick.”

“Dean?” Sam stepped forward as his brother shrank back into the stone wall, head jerking back in denial. Scared eyes darting around for a weapon. “Dean, it’s me.” A gentle hand tentatively came to rest on the fallen hunter’s shoulder, supporting him, reaching out, comforting. His eyes were wet and frightened as he froze and looked up.

“Sammy?”

“Yes, Dean. Come on. Let’s get you out of here. I’ll explain on the way.” Suddenly warm hands were lifting him. Secure around his waist. Dean couldn’t stop shaking. Looking up at his younger brother. Denying his existence. Braced for the inevitable puff of smoke and dissolving walls, Dean went limp and allowed the vision to carry him out of the cell and down the stone hallway. Stealing another glance, he noticed Sam’s lips were moving. _Fuck has he been talking_?

“--but Bobby said it would work. So here I am.”

“What?”

“I had to fake suicide to get sent down here so I could look for you. Bobby found some old Incan spell that enables the spirit to die temporarily and he’s going to bring me back.”

“Wait.” Dean shoved off his brother’s grip and stepped back. “How would that even work? And how are you going to get me out of here?”

“Just trust me, we have to hurry.” Sam reached out, offering his hand.

“Sammy, no.” Dean swatted the hand and backed further away. “Tell me everything now. You gotta understand man, they’ve been fucking with my head down here for years. How do I even know you’re real?”

“Dean.”

“Tell me!” the older Winchester shouted. His eyes sparked and angry.

“Jesus, fine, calm down. Look, I can’t, there’s no way to prove I’m me if they’ve been messing with your head.”

“You could tell me something only the real Sam would know.”

“But they can get into your head, you said. Couldn’t they just--”

“No, it’s not my real memories.” Dean cut his brother off, swiping sweat slick hair from his face. He was shaking again, tension coiled in his legs, ready to bolt. “It’s all fake. So tell me something only the real Sammy would know.”

“Dean…”

“Sammy please. I can’t. I can’t keep this up.” His eyes dropped, unable to look at his brother. Unable to watch him disappear again. Something dull and metallic reflected in the corner of his vision. Sammy’s amulet.

“We only ever had one proper Christmas before I was sent down here.” Dean began, meeting his brother’s cautious gaze. “This,” Dean gestured to the amulet around his neck “was the only proper gift anyone’s ever really given me.”

“Dean, I--” Sam trailed off. He had begun shaking, looking around the hall nervously.

“If you are really my brother and not some god damn black eyed bitch. Where did you get it?”

Sam fidgeted, licking his lips and avoiding Dean’s stare. “It was… umm.”

“Answer me.”

“Dean please, we need to--”

“Now!”

“It was mom’s?” the soulless liar before him guessed.

“Wrong answer.” Dean growled. A green light burst from his eyes and mouth, passing through Sam, through the hallway bricks and disappearing into the darkness. The fallen hunter collapsed breathless as the light retreated back inside him.

“My my, Dean Winchester, now aren’t you something.” Dull clapping echoed across the empty room. Dean opened his eyes. He was back in a small cell, strapped to a cold metal operating table. Mocking laughter followed the applause, followed by a tall shadow approaching his side.

“You guys are getting weak,” Dean laughed. “What chump did they send this time? Sneezy? Dopey?”

“Naberus,” the soft voiced cooed just beside him. The new demon was tall and thin. Black-beaked beneath piercing navy eyes. His magnificent raven feathers and soft charcoal down were oil slick and gleaming between midnight black scales and taloned feet. He had to stand at least two heads taller than Sam and was towering over Dean, breathing rank just inches from the hunter’s face as he spoke. “I would say I am pleased to meet you. But if Alastair sent for me, the time for niceties has passed. Shall we?”

Dean’s vision blurred once more as he was thrown back into the world of illusions and lies.


	6. Castiel - Year 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doubt breeds eternal.
> 
>  _How is it divine  
>  when it's flawed design?  
> Fill the cracks with faith I can't find._  
> ~AFI, Sacrilege

“I don’t understand. What was he thinking?” Castiel was growing angrier the more Ezekiel told him. Blue streams of energy flared and pulsed from his center, burning the walls around him with deep black scars. The pile of dead demons beneath them began to smolder as stray bolts struck their flesh. Frightened, the dimming gold flicker backed away. He was unwilling to be the messenger slain in Castiel’s growing wrath. The raging orb froze. His anger was reigned in, grace returning to its more tranquil shades of azure. “Apologies Ezekiel. I am calm. Please, continue.”

“Zachariah reports that Raphael’s unit has suffered heavy losses as a result of his... outburst. Mostly injuries, not deaths, but Michael has ordered their retreat.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Castiel flared again, rocks cracking to dust behind him. “Has Naomi said anything?”

“Just to stay on task, brother. Have faith, we will find him.”

“We have already wasted three years. Most humans do not last longer than five.”

“I know, Castiel. But he is different.”

“So everyone keeps saying.” He huffed, dimming and flitting lower in the cell. “We have suffered so much loss already for this man and I am beginning to question our purpose here.”

“You mustn’t speak that way. Remember what happened to those who have lost their way. Remember Anna.” Ezekiel dimmed and sulked next to the blue orb. He knew their former commander was a sore spot with Castiel, but he needed to be reaffirmed. “Have faith, brother. We will succeed.”

“I know. You are right. Thank you Ezekiel.”

“I am here to aid you. Where to now?”

“Samandriel is bringing the last demon who saw Searle before she vanished. We will question him.”

As if on cue, a squat demon was ushered into the cell wrapped in tendrils of red flame. He hissed and squirmed attempting to avoid the burning touch of the angel’s grace enveloping his arms. “Thisss is a missstake! Alaissstair will hear of thisss!”

“Your pretender to the throne is of no concern to us, demon spawn.” Castiel flared bright, blue streams snaking about the demon’s face, lifting his chin. “You will answer our questions, Valac the Truth Teller. Resist and you will end up like the others.” He pulled the scowling face to the left, forcing his eyes to the pile of bodies in the far corner. Beady eyes shot wide open and Castiel relished the sudden tremble beneath his touch.

“W-w-what do you want to know?” the demon stilled, eyes falling closed in surrender to those who knew his true name.

“The crossroads demon, Searle. She was assigned to Dean Winchester was she not?”

“Yesss.”

“Is she with him now?”

“No.”

“Where is she?”

“Dead.”

Castiel flared in frustration at the news. Samandriel and Ezekiel both jumped back as unbridled streaks of grace whipped about the small cell. “How?” the angel demanded.

“Ssssam. The younger Winchester. He sssummoned her. Ssshot her.” Valac was whimpering, voice dropped to a broken whisper as Castiel’s grip tightened about his shivering frame. “And who is with Dean Winchester now?”

“I was until Naberusssss arrived.”

“And where was this?”

“Down in the far left corridor. It’sss where he sendsss more difficult soulsss.”

Castiel snaked more tendrils of grace about the demon’s arms and legs, scales and feathers burning up and falling to the floor in ash. The small creature wriggled in vain, resisting the scream building up in his throat. His eyes were held closed, not daring to look into the powerful light now hovering just inches from his face. “You have been most helpful and I thank you. But as we can have no witnesses…” the deep angelic voice purred.

“No--” Valac’s rasp was cut off in a choked gurgle. Harsh sapphire light filled him, burning every corner, every molecule of his frame. The demon was on fire from the hollow of his chest to smoldering sockets. Castiel released a pained sigh and dimmed to his sulking form. He hated the killing part. Always hated it.

“Ezekiel, let’s report back to Zachariah. Samandriel, please dispose of the... evidence.”

“Yes brother.”  
_____

Castiel was churning with excitement for the first time in three centuries. These Winchesters had become something of a legend below. As far as he could tell, many demons were eager to get their pound of flesh for years of Winchester exorcisms. But there was something else, something nagging the angel in the way demons spoke the name...  _Winchester_. Full of vile hatred, spitting each syllable out like it disgusted them to even utter the word. There was something much more going on here, much more than a fallen hunter.

“Brothers, you bring news?” Zachariah greeted them.

“We have a lead as to Dean Winchester’s last known location.”

“Excellent.”

“Brother,” Castiel began. “I have many questions.”

“When do you not?” Zachariah laughed stiffly, flickering momentarily in annoyance.

“These Winchesters, they are hunters, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So I can understand the animosity Alastair and his kind may have for them. But there are thousands of hunters and they die every day.”

“Yes.” Zachariah answered carefully. Not willing to say more than was necessary. Naomi had been clear on that matter.

“But the shorter demon, the ugly one--”

“They’re all ugly” Zachariah interrupted.

“He claims that Searle was killed by Dean Winchester’s brother, Sam, as retribution. Not exorcised back to Hell, but shot with a bullet of some sort. Humans possess such weapons?”

“Oh Castiel, these Winchesters are not like regular humans. They have many skills and weapons at their disposal.”

“Is that why--”

“It’s none of your concern? Yes.” Zachariah flared bright and blinding. Tendrils of grace encircling his younger brother, daring him to speak further. Castiel refused to dim or move. Cool blue fingers of his own grace snaking out, taunting the those before him. Ezekiel flitted between them.

“Brothers, please. Our mission.”

“Very well, I will return to my search.” Castiel relented, withdrew to a solid orb and dimmed his grace. The elder angel waited, still poised to attack. Golden light flitted about nervously then joined Castiel’s side. “Come Ezekiel.”

Zachariah watched until the bobbing lights had disappeared back down the black hallway before contacting Naomi. She would not be pleased with these new developments. _But it's her own fault_ he thought. _Asking Castiel to even come on this mission and then putting him in charge of interrogations? Naomi must have some ego to think she could just erase a millenia of curiosity._

**Author's Note:**

> Maths to bear in mind while reading:  
> 1 Hell year = 3 Earth days  
> 124 Hell minutes = 1 Earth minute  
> Heaven has no "time" and is more of a frozen moment of time stasis.


End file.
